she sits on the edge,
comfortably away from the fire,
safely out of the battle zone,
throwing round house punches,
taking cheap shots,
hitting below the belt
whenever possible,
protecting her cynicism
at all cost;
resting securely in cloaks of MFA s,
drowning in sheets of academic nonsense,
staring down her preconceived nose,
at anything outside her ‘reformed’ mind,
jaded by the master,
poisoned at a very early age;
more than a childhood lost.
.
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